About two weeks ago, I noticed that Finn was getting quiet and wasn't eating his food. I checked his vital signs and watched him closely all night. His lack of appetite was the most startling signal, since he was always a food vacuum. He was taking treats, though. When I came home Monday night, he was a bit perkier than he'd been the previous evening, but still wouldn't take food, so we went to the vet. She said I could get blood tests or I could monitor him for a few more days. I was hopeful, but he continued not to eat and to be listless. Truthfully, I think I had a sense, but I was scared of the potential diagnosis, even though he was only 9 1/2.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Finn: 1998-2008
About two weeks ago, I noticed that Finn was getting quiet and wasn't eating his food. I checked his vital signs and watched him closely all night. His lack of appetite was the most startling signal, since he was always a food vacuum. He was taking treats, though. When I came home Monday night, he was a bit perkier than he'd been the previous evening, but still wouldn't take food, so we went to the vet. She said I could get blood tests or I could monitor him for a few more days. I was hopeful, but he continued not to eat and to be listless. Truthfully, I think I had a sense, but I was scared of the potential diagnosis, even though he was only 9 1/2.
We went back to Caring Hands where, after the techs saw him have an accident on the floor, they scheduled him in. After blood work showed elevated red cells, we did an ultrasound and found his spleen was enlarged about 5 times. The vet said there was a 20% chance it could be benign, but that for Finn as an older large dog, it was not likely. An operation could cause him to expire on the table and if the tumor were malignant, the operation would only extend his life by about a month more than the 2-3 months he could potentially have left.
So we went home. First, almost feverishly as though it would change the diagnosis, I cleaned his pond, one of his favorite places in the world. And probably to appease me, he did get in and even splashed some, barking at the splashes and trying to catch the droplets in his mouth. I got it on camera. I never want to forget this, as it was something that always made me smile, no matter what other challenges presented themselves. He was so cute!
And I went out and bought every treat I could think of to tempt him. We started with chocolate covered dog bones, basted barbecue femur, and meaty marrow bones. The next day, I tried a walk to St. Elmo's, but he had to stop a few times on the way down. On the way back, we stopped and took pictures in the doors of Del Ray, where he lived most of his life - St. Elmo's, Dairy Godmother, Cheesetique, Los Tios, Nature's Nibbles, and the Farmer's Market. The Dairy Godmother lady, Liz, came out and fed him squirrel biscuits and cried with me. He's always loved her puppy pops, and to the end, they were some of the last foods he would take. He even stopped at the new Let's Meat on the Avenue meat store, where I went later in the week to buy fresh meat.
But he stopped six times in the mile back home. And people passed us sitting on the sidewalk and offered help or asked if we were okay. But there was nothing they could do. And we were not okay - neither of us. Jen came over and spent time with us the first night.
It's been a challenging week since I got the diagnosis, and I can easily say this was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. He may have been hiding it from me for a while, but he only had to deal with the appetite loss, weakness, listlessness and loss of movement for a short time, thank Heaven. And I fed him every treat I could think of, plus cooked organic beef and chicken. It was strange for someone who hasn't eaten meat in 20 years to walk into a butcher and ask for "something bland and easy to eat." Finn and I spent a lot of time in the garden watching each other last week.
Jennie called and offered to come down to be with me. So did Mom, and Jen said to call any time when I had to bring him in a final time. The few work friends I told were sympathetic and supportive and kind.
Tuesday morning, he was particularly slow, and I spent an extra 45 minutes sitting with him on the couch and petting him before going to work. I was numb all day and was convinced I shouldn't have left him home alone. But I came home, and he was wagging his tail and went outside.
All week, though, when I got home early, he'd make his way back right next to the pond... not going in, but lying in the grass or on the blanket I brought out. He did play tug of war with Barkley, the Jack Russell who was staying with us, and even chased the ball a few times. Laura came and brought sushi and wine one night, and he watched us from the chair. But he was clearly getting tired.
Three nights ago, I lifted him into bed next to me. And in that magic time between wakefulness and drifting to sleep, he kept licking my face and nuzzling into the crook of my arm. I think I knew this was the last time I'd wake up with him leaning his 86 pound black furry mass against my body, doing his best to make me feel as though I were in a twin sized bed. I had to lift him down in the morning, and that night I slept downstairs on the floor next to the couch where he was lying. I kept smelling his paw and that doggy scent of his.
Jen had been over earlier, and Finn ate the charcoal-cooked burger I made for him. But he was unsteady on his pins and had lost the ability to address stairs. Friday night, we went outside again, but he kept making his way to side parts of the yard and lying in the mulch under trees. He lifted his head a few times when kids passed on the sidewalk, but when I noticed he'd thrown up all of the food I had hand-fed him the night before, I knew he was too weak after three days of not eating... to weak even to walk more than three or four steps. I picked him up and drove him to Caring Hands before I lost my resolve.
They were very kind to him, and the vet confirmed that it was the right time. So I held his head and looked into those pretty brown eyes and talked to him as he went to sleep and sighed one last sigh. And then he was gone. My furry baby, whom I raised from a three month old puppy to the loyal, faithful, loving wicked devil who raided my fridge, spilled garbage cans, ate dirty laundry and made my life an exuberant cycle of laughter, love and frustration. He was great with dogs, kids and people. He loved tennis balls, swimming and food. And he loved me with an enduring force I can never forget.
My kind neighbors, who saw me come home, invited me to sit on the patio and drink wine and spend time with their dog, who's coming to stay with me tonight while they're out of town. Mom, Jennie, Jen, Laura and her parents... my dear people called to check on me. And the friends I've seen today at the Farmer's Market have hugged me and remembered him. Still others, seeing my Gmail message, have sent notes remembering what a great dog my Finn was. And it helps.
Honoring him, since I can't imagine my life without a true companion, I will probably find a new pup sooner rather than later. I'll never replace him, though. He was such a good Finn, and I loved him so much.
We went back to Caring Hands where, after the techs saw him have an accident on the floor, they scheduled him in. After blood work showed elevated red cells, we did an ultrasound and found his spleen was enlarged about 5 times. The vet said there was a 20% chance it could be benign, but that for Finn as an older large dog, it was not likely. An operation could cause him to expire on the table and if the tumor were malignant, the operation would only extend his life by about a month more than the 2-3 months he could potentially have left.
So we went home. First, almost feverishly as though it would change the diagnosis, I cleaned his pond, one of his favorite places in the world. And probably to appease me, he did get in and even splashed some, barking at the splashes and trying to catch the droplets in his mouth. I got it on camera. I never want to forget this, as it was something that always made me smile, no matter what other challenges presented themselves. He was so cute!
And I went out and bought every treat I could think of to tempt him. We started with chocolate covered dog bones, basted barbecue femur, and meaty marrow bones. The next day, I tried a walk to St. Elmo's, but he had to stop a few times on the way down. On the way back, we stopped and took pictures in the doors of Del Ray, where he lived most of his life - St. Elmo's, Dairy Godmother, Cheesetique, Los Tios, Nature's Nibbles, and the Farmer's Market. The Dairy Godmother lady, Liz, came out and fed him squirrel biscuits and cried with me. He's always loved her puppy pops, and to the end, they were some of the last foods he would take. He even stopped at the new Let's Meat on the Avenue meat store, where I went later in the week to buy fresh meat.
But he stopped six times in the mile back home. And people passed us sitting on the sidewalk and offered help or asked if we were okay. But there was nothing they could do. And we were not okay - neither of us. Jen came over and spent time with us the first night.
It's been a challenging week since I got the diagnosis, and I can easily say this was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. He may have been hiding it from me for a while, but he only had to deal with the appetite loss, weakness, listlessness and loss of movement for a short time, thank Heaven. And I fed him every treat I could think of, plus cooked organic beef and chicken. It was strange for someone who hasn't eaten meat in 20 years to walk into a butcher and ask for "something bland and easy to eat." Finn and I spent a lot of time in the garden watching each other last week.
Jennie called and offered to come down to be with me. So did Mom, and Jen said to call any time when I had to bring him in a final time. The few work friends I told were sympathetic and supportive and kind.
Tuesday morning, he was particularly slow, and I spent an extra 45 minutes sitting with him on the couch and petting him before going to work. I was numb all day and was convinced I shouldn't have left him home alone. But I came home, and he was wagging his tail and went outside.
All week, though, when I got home early, he'd make his way back right next to the pond... not going in, but lying in the grass or on the blanket I brought out. He did play tug of war with Barkley, the Jack Russell who was staying with us, and even chased the ball a few times. Laura came and brought sushi and wine one night, and he watched us from the chair. But he was clearly getting tired.
Three nights ago, I lifted him into bed next to me. And in that magic time between wakefulness and drifting to sleep, he kept licking my face and nuzzling into the crook of my arm. I think I knew this was the last time I'd wake up with him leaning his 86 pound black furry mass against my body, doing his best to make me feel as though I were in a twin sized bed. I had to lift him down in the morning, and that night I slept downstairs on the floor next to the couch where he was lying. I kept smelling his paw and that doggy scent of his.
Jen had been over earlier, and Finn ate the charcoal-cooked burger I made for him. But he was unsteady on his pins and had lost the ability to address stairs. Friday night, we went outside again, but he kept making his way to side parts of the yard and lying in the mulch under trees. He lifted his head a few times when kids passed on the sidewalk, but when I noticed he'd thrown up all of the food I had hand-fed him the night before, I knew he was too weak after three days of not eating... to weak even to walk more than three or four steps. I picked him up and drove him to Caring Hands before I lost my resolve.
They were very kind to him, and the vet confirmed that it was the right time. So I held his head and looked into those pretty brown eyes and talked to him as he went to sleep and sighed one last sigh. And then he was gone. My furry baby, whom I raised from a three month old puppy to the loyal, faithful, loving wicked devil who raided my fridge, spilled garbage cans, ate dirty laundry and made my life an exuberant cycle of laughter, love and frustration. He was great with dogs, kids and people. He loved tennis balls, swimming and food. And he loved me with an enduring force I can never forget.
My kind neighbors, who saw me come home, invited me to sit on the patio and drink wine and spend time with their dog, who's coming to stay with me tonight while they're out of town. Mom, Jennie, Jen, Laura and her parents... my dear people called to check on me. And the friends I've seen today at the Farmer's Market have hugged me and remembered him. Still others, seeing my Gmail message, have sent notes remembering what a great dog my Finn was. And it helps.
Honoring him, since I can't imagine my life without a true companion, I will probably find a new pup sooner rather than later. I'll never replace him, though. He was such a good Finn, and I loved him so much.
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